Dal. Little or none; a bare possibility. You know what has passed betwixt us.
Lop. But suppose he should renew his love, had you rather marry that rich old Conde, or this poor young rogue, Don Carlos?
Dal. This poor young rogue, if you please, father.
Lop. I thought as much, good madam. But, to come closer to the present business, betwixt Don Carlos and Don Sancho, that is to say, a poor young wit, and a rich young fool; put the case, gentlewoman, which of them would you chuse?
Dal. If it were not for mere necessity, I have a kind of a loathing to a fool.
Lop. The more fool you, madam.
Dal. Would you have a race of booby grandsons?
Lop. That's as your conscience serves you. I say only, that your husband shall be a fool; I say not, your children's father shall be one.
San. [To Car.] This is a plaguy long whisper, I do not like it. And yet, now I think on't, my left eye itches, some good luck is coming towards me.
Lop. [To them.] I'll be short and pithy with you. Don Sancho,—I think they call ye,—if out of my abundant love I should bestow my dutiful daughter on you, what kind of husband would you make?